


The Leap

by dancingbeetle



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Captain Swan - Freeform, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2013-11-23
Packaged: 2018-01-02 05:48:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1053230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancingbeetle/pseuds/dancingbeetle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After their return to Storybrooke, Emma has three conversations and comes to one important decision.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Emma Talks to Mary Margaret

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this after 3x07 'Dark Hollow,' and luckily it wasn't completely blown out of the water by 3x08 'Think Lovely Thoughts.' I suppose it could be considered an AU since I chose to ignore any hints/spoilers about upcoming episodes - but that's half the fun of writing during a current season, isn't it?
> 
> It's my first time writing in the OUAT fandom, so please... be gentle with me.

After all was said and done, and they had won the battle, and peace (such as it was, given the population and its foibles) had been restored to Storybrooke, Emma wasn’t sure what to do.

She assumed the next crisis was just around the metaphorical corner — and indeed, a fierce debate was already brewing over whether to attempt a return to the Enchanted Forest — but they seemed to have earned a break, and she wasn’t about to question whatever grace had afforded them the rest.

So she took a weekend off.

She took long showers, slept in and watched cartoons with Henry, took walks with her parents and exchanged stories (and tears), tinkered with the yellow Beetle, even started a journal.

And through all this, on the periphery, she could feel Neal and Hook waiting for her.

When they had returned from Neverland, she had told them in no uncertain terms to knock it the hell off.

“I couldn’t care less about your little rivalry,” she had snapped at them both after yet another spat had grown unnecessarily heated as they sailed home. “I swear to God, if you don’t shut up and leave me alone I will throw both of you down a mineshaft.”

“But —” the two men sputtered in unison, then glared daggers at one another until David had stepped up to stand at Emma’s shoulder, a hand on his sword hilt and a paternal threat on his face.

Neal had at least had the grace to look intimidated; Hooks face had developed a speculative _should-I-duel-her-father_ expression until she’d skewered him with a final warning glance and he had looked away with a frown.

Since then they had orbited her at an equal distance, like two satellites required to keep the planet between them at all times. Though they were careful not to bother her — or, to their credit, each other — she could feel their silent broadcasts: _pick me, love me_.

She still wasn’t sure what to do.

 

***

 

Emma finally broke down and talked to her mother about it after her long weekend had turned into one day of relaxation and two days of tension and avoiding leaving the apartment.

“I just don’t know what to think,” she said in frustration as she opened a second bottle of wine. The wind was whipping itself into a frenzy in the dark street outside.

“What does your heart tell you, sweetie?” asked Mary Margaret sympathetically.

“Nothing sensible,” grumbled Emma. “Sometimes I can see a future with Neal, then five minutes later I’m furious with him again. Sometimes I think about Killian and I just — it makes me want to melt, the way he looks at me. Right up until it makes me want to scream.”

She let her head fall to the kitchen counter with a light _thunk_ as Mary Margaret sipped her wine.

“I think it’s clear that they both have very strong feelings for you, Emma,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “And I certainly can’t tell you what to do. But…” The blonde head came up. “…do you think you can trust Neal again? I don’t mean ‘is he trustworthy,’” she added hastily. “I mean, can you let go of what he did in the past and open yourself to trusting him in the future?”

“I don’t _know_ ,” said Emma, taking a mouthful of wine and returning her head to the counter.

“Do you trust Hook? When you imagine yourself in the future, with him, do you see him standing by you?”

“I feel like I _should_ say no,” said Emma slowly, “but I think — I do.”

“Honey,” said her mother gently, “that sounds like an answer to your question.”

“But it doesn’t feel right. Neither answer does. And neither does no answer. I feel like, I don’t know, like I’m waiting for some sign,” said Emma. As she raised her head she was surprised to find the beginnings of tears in her own eyes. “Like it’ll just be clear what to do, who to love, and everything will just fall into place. I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life for that sign, and it keeps not coming, and I don’t know what to do.”

“Maybe you won’t know until you’ve made a decision.”

“But what if I choose wrong?” asked Emma, the barest quiver in her voice.

There was a long pause. Outside, the rain began to lash itself against the window panes. _How did you know?_ was the question Emma could feel burning in her eyes.

“Love is a leap of faith,” said Mary Margaret finally. “Love doesn’t always know, sweetheart. But it finds a way. Love is the moment when you let yourself be willing to fall into a future you can’t control. The leap of faith,” she repeated softly. “And you have to be ready to make it over and over and over again.”

The little kitchen filled with silence, which was the sound of the storm. Emma poured herself another glass of wine and leaned against Mary Margaret, who looped her arm around her daughter’s waist, almost shy.

“Quite the tempest brewing out there.”

“It’ll blow itself out by morning.”

 

***

 

Emma slept fitfully after she finally went to bed (less tipsy than she would have liked). At two o’clock Henry stumbled into her room and inserted himself under her arm like a much younger child, and she fell into dreams.

She was back in Boston, years ago, walking the city streets alone, a nameless threat hovering just outside of her vision. She began to run, and the brick buildings melted in the manner of dreams and became the Neverland jungle, leaves slapping at her arms and face, the threat — whatever it was — still in the corner of her eyes. A sword was in her hand (Baelfire’s cutlass again?) and she swiped ineffectively behind her and without warning a bare cliff’s edge was beneath her feet and she was falling. The water was cold. As she sank something solid rose up to meet her, and rose with her through the water, and as they broke the surface she saw that she was standing on the deck of the _Jolly Roger_ , and she gasped for breath.

_Well_ , though Emma when she awoke. _That wasn’t symbolic at all_.


	2. Emma Talks to Neal

“Neal —”

“Emma, I _love_ you,” he said, leaning toward her across the table.

“Neal, you’re not listening to me,” she said, irritation creeping into her voice. “I love you, too, but —”

“— then give me the chance to prove to you that —”

“There’s nothing to prove!” Emma could feel her voice rising, and she took a breath, trying to calm herself down. This was why they were sitting in a booth at The Rabbit Hole, far away from the eavesdropping that was endemic at Granny’s. “You and I both know it’s just… not a good idea anymore.”

“I just — I want the chance to make up for everything. I screwed it all up, I know that, and I know I can’t fix what I did. But I can make it better, in the future. I can fight for you —”

“I am so _sick_ ,” she snapped, “of being _fought for_. I am done with fighting. That isn’t what I want, Neal. I just want to be happy.”

“I could make you happy.”

She looked at him evenly across the table. “I spent a long time thinking that, too. But… I don’t anymore.”

“What about Henry?” he said, grasping. “Our son deserves to have a family, he shouldn’t have to go through the stuff we did.”

“I’m not going anywhere. You’re not going anywhere. Henry’s gonna have a family, it’s just not gonna be the two point five kids, white picket fence type.”

“Isn’t it better for him if we’re, you know, together? Especially after… everything?” His hand wave encompassed the entirety of the last crazy year.

“Oh, no. You are stretching, buddy,” said Emma. “I might not have the greatest relationship experience, but I’ve met enough screwed up families to know that people staying together for the sake of a kid is never a good idea. And I think you can understand that, too,” she added quietly. She didn’t know everything about his parents, but she had gathered enough to hint at what she was trying to make him understand.

She loved him, yes, but she was not in love with him. A distinction that sounded so much like high school and yet made all the difference. She thought of the past with a pang, but when she looked forward, imagined a future with him, the rest of their lives — there was nothing there.

Neal sighed heavily.

“This really isn’t going to work, is it?” he said, the question in his voice barely necessary.

“It’s really not,” she said. “We’re always going to be connected, there’s no denying that, but as far as _us_ is concerned,” she took a breath, “it is time to move on.”

“‘Move on.’ Wait… seriously? That’s what this is about?” he asked suddenly, animated again, eyes narrowing.

Emma sighed inwardly. She hadn’t wanted this to be part of their conversation, but at this point, she supposed the honestly couldn’t make it any worse.

“Yeah.”

“Oh my God. It’s Hook.” Neal sat back abruptly, realization sweeping across his face like a shadow. “You’re picking him.”

She was pretty sure she reigned in the eyeroll that threatened to erupt at his comment.

“Oh my God," he repeated. "After that kiss, all the flirtation and innuendo, I never took it seriously, I thought it was just him, but — Emma, he’s a pirate, you can’t trust him!”

“Neal, you were a _thief_!”

“No, for real, there’s stuff about him you don’t know. Things he’s done, things he hasn’t told you about.”

“He told me everything. I know about your mom, and what happened in Neverland with you and him and the Lost Boys. And for what it’s worth, Neal, it’s obvious that he regrets it. I’m not gonna play therapist, but maybe you should give each other a chance to work things out. He’s a good man.”

She could see the roulette wheel of emotions flicking across his face as he processed her words. Anger, argument, sadness, before he settled on something that looked like acceptance. Or resignation.

“Maybe you’re right, I don’t know,” he said slowly. “I spent so much time hating the guy, blaming him for everything. And then seeing him around you in Neverland made it that much worse. But… my mother was the one who left. That’s on her. Hook might be a scumbag, but he’s mostly an honest scumbag.”

Emma snorted softly, and Neal looked at her from beneath furrowed eyebrows.

“Emma. Babe. Do you really think he’s going to make you happy? I mean for real?”

“What, you mean like true love?” she said, a tinge of sarcasm in her voice.

Neal’s shrug said _maybe_.

“Seriously?” She let out a long breath. “I don’t know. I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow, or next week. I don’t know what ‘true love’ even means, which I’m sure would make Mary Margaret shake her head at me. But… I think maybe the answer is yes. I think it enough to risk it.”

They looked at each other for a long moment, until there was understanding hovering over the table between them.

“All right,” said Neal finally, nodding gently.

“All right,” said Emma.


	3. Emma Talks to Hook

Emma’s books clunked self-consciously across the deck of the _Jolly Roger_. Although she hadn’t meant to visit the ship (and her captain) so soon after her conversation with Neal — had intended to take some time, a few hours at least, to collect her thoughts and choose her words — her feet had brought her to the Storybrooke docks, and she was knocking on the door of Hook’s stateroom before she quite realized where she was.

There was no answer. With an unfamiliar feeling of nervous anticipation flipping her stomach, she pushed open the door.

The room was a mess. It was dominated by a large wooden table which was likewise a mess, covered in maps and fanciful navigational devices and, somewhat incongruously, to-go bags from Granny’s. A half-empty bottle of rum was perched on a wooden box, and a pirate holding a half-empty glass was perched on a chair.

He had cast off the leather jacket and restrictive vests, wearing instead a linen shirt light enough that Emma could make out the bandages crisscrossing his chest and arms, souvenirs of their final battle with the Lost Boys.

“Hi,” she said, somewhat inadequately.

“Sheriff Swan,” he drawled without looking at her, tossing back the rest of his glass. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I, uh, wanted to talk.”

“I’m all ears, love.” His toothy grin did not reach his eyes as he reached for the bottle.

The unsteadiness of his grasp made Emma narrow her eyes, and her nervousness fled.

“Are you drunk?” she asked in disbelief. “Hook, it’s barely noon.”

“Not drunk, Swan. Just trying to work up the courage.”

“Courage to do what?”

“Leave.”

She took a step into the room.

“Leave?” she parroted, hoping her voice was steady. “Why?”

“I have been a sailor for a very long time, my dear. I can tell which way the wind is blowing, and it is not blowing in my direction. Thus, I will allow myself to be blown _by_ it to parts unknown, out of your pretty blonde hair.” He sighed. “Just as soon as I can talk myself into it.”

“What makes you think I want you out of my hair?”

“Oh, I was a fool to think it would turn out any differently. Baelfire, Henry, the happy family — that’s what you deserve, Swan; not a one-handed pirate with a drinking problem.”

He stood, pushing back his chair with a violence that belied the dullness in his voice, and walked over to an open porthole.

“Okay, one: stop being so melodramatic,” she said. “Two: don’t you dare tell me what I deserve or don’t deserve. And three… don’t leave.”

“Give me one good reason not to,” he said, his back to her, and she thought the stiff lines of his shoulders were saying _please_.

“Because…” she said, following him across the room. “I want you to stay.”

“I don’t believe you,” he said, very quietly.

“What do you want me to say, Hook?” she said, almost sarcastically. “What’s gonna convince you? Do you want me to tell you about how I’ve been having dreams about the ocean since the day we got back to Storybrooke? And if it’s not the ocean, it’s the jungle, or the caves. You want me to tell you how your secret broke my heart and gave me hope at the same time? That I couldn’t… that I couldn’t have done it without you?”

“Swan, any man with eyes in his head and a sword to swing around would have done what I did,” he said, staring out the porthole.

“No. I mean I couldn’t have done it without _you_ ,” she said firmly, laying her hand on his bandaged arm and turning his body towards hers.

_The leap of faith_. She leapt.

“Look, let me put this in terms you’ll understand. You win, Killian.”

At the sound of his name he finally looked her in the eye.

“Thought you said this wasn’t a contest,” he said, a ghost of his former smirk crossing his lips.

“Yeah, well, I’m trying to speak your language. Pirate.”

“I don’t deserve you, Emma,” he said, serious again. “I can’t even try to replace what you’ve lost or fix what you’ve gone through.”

“Good thing I don’t want fixing, then,” she said. “Good thing I have a better idea of what you deserve than you do.”

He looked at her, one eyebrow raised.

“Didn’t you just finish yelling at me about telling you what you deserve?” he asked.

“Yeah, well,” she said. “That was different. You were wrong, and I’m right.”

“Oh?” One corner of his mouth lifted.

“We’re the heroes,” she said, her voice close to a whisper. “Don’t we deserve the happy ending?”

“Is that what you want, love?” he said quietly. “A happy ending?”

“Isn’t that what you want?” She turned the question back on him.

“I’m no hero.”

“You could’ve fooled me.”

There was a moment of quiet as they looked at each other. Emma’s fingers twitched almost imperceptibly on Killian’s arm.

“Is it really that simple?” he asked, brushing a lock of hair away from her face. “Defeat the villain, sweep the princess off her feet, bugger off into the sunset toward happily ever after?”

“I’m no princess,” she said with a smirk.

“You could’ve fooled me, love.”

His arms went around her and finally, endlessly, he kissed her. Emma’s eyes fluttered shut as his lips gently met hers. His hook rested on her hip as his good hand came up to cup her shoulder blade, pressing her close to his chest.

Emma swore she could feel the stress and fear of the last year melting away as they kissed. After all the pain, all the doubt, this felt right and good in a way that little in her life had. Killian’s mouth against hers, the rum-and-salt taste of him, his eyelashes brushing her temple as they pushed as close to one another as they could. A bright feeling bubbled up slowly beneath her breastbone and Emma realized, almost startled, that it was joy. It was the sign.

She began to laugh against his lips, and he pulled back just far enough to look quizzically at her.

“It’s nothing,” she said, smiling widely. “I’m — happy.”

“I’m happy.”

_I’m happy_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this didn't go up last night as promised. Thanks so much for reading - I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
